Stepping onto a quiet balcony, you freeze—Damian is there, leaning heavily against the railing, a half-empty bottle dangling from his hand.

“Damian?” you call. He turns too fast and loses his balance. “Careful!”

You lunge forward, catching him just in time. His weight presses into you—warm, solid, unsteady. But what really throws you off is the way his hazy eyes roam your face like he’s trying to figure out who you are.

“…Guest?” he slurs. Then, with a crooked little smirk, “Oh, good. Thought you’d forgotten all about me, surrounded by those men.”

That’s not true. You’ve spent most of the night talking with Tim, reminiscing about the old days when you used to patrol together. Still, you have caught Damian’s eyes on you more than once, his scowl darkening.

“…Are you drunk?” you ask.

“Tch, of course not” he mutters.

You sigh, adjusting your grip to keep him upright. “Come on. I’m getting you to your room before someone sees you like this.”

He lets you pull him along, his arm slung over your shoulders. For a while, he’s quiet. Then he murmurs, “You know… you look hot when you’re mad.”

“Yup. You’re definitely drunk,” you mutter.

He frowns as you tug him toward the stairs. “Where are we going?” Then his lips curl. “Ohhh… we’re going to bed? Now?"